The Paradise Prophecy (4 page)

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Authors: Robert Browne

BOOK: The Paradise Prophecy
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Shortly after that night, she had broken it off with Alejandro. She had somehow gotten it into her head that her growing lack of attention to her own faith had rubbed off on others, and the only way she could fight against the chaos was to renew her vow to the Father.
It was bad enough, she said, that she was forced to get up on that stage and shake her hips. Some in the church were appalled by her overtly sexual performances, but they couldn’t complain about the results. Gabriela had brought young people from all over the globe into the fold, and she considered a few pelvic thrusts a small compromise, as long as they never overshadowed the larger message in her music:
God is good.
God is great.
God is the light in a world of darkness.
Besides, who ever said children of the Lord couldn’t be sexual? Hadn’t He given them these urges for a reason? And maybe, just maybe, He approved.
But Gabriela had eventually drawn the line at continuing to sleep with Alejandro. As much as she’d loved their nights together—or so she had claimed—she could no longer allow herself to sin.
“So this is it,” she had said as she climbed atop him and guided him inside her for the very last time. “Tomorrow is a new beginning. Tomorrow I give myself to God and no one else.”
God is a lucky man, Alejandro had thought.
Then he’d closed his eyes and reveled in the feel of that thrusting pelvis against his, in the knowledge that he had tasted the sweetness that was Gabriela Zuada, a sweetness that had brought him such unbridled pleasure that he would remember it with exquisite clarity for the rest of his life.
And now, as he strode with a platoon of bodyguards, searching the maze of corridors backstage for the woman he loved—a maze that hadn’t seemed quite so confusing before this moment—Alejandro once again remembered that last sinful night, relishing his good fortune.
And despite being cut off from those amazing bodily treasures . . . the perfect breasts, the skilled hands, the rolling tongue, that dark, delicious hair . . . Despite the fact that Gabriela was nowhere to be found in this impossibly confusing place, a sense of calm washed over Alejandro and he felt at peace with the world.
Until the acrid smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, and Gabriela began to scream.
4
 
T
en minutes before those screams, Gabriela Zuada stood onstage with her bandmates, their hands locked together as they took their final bow.
The crowd was cheering, many of them on their feet, some even chanting, “Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela . . .” as they showered the stage with flowers and candies.
Scooping up one of the flowers—a bloodred rose—Gabriela threw it into the air, then lifted her chin toward the rafters and shouted, “
Glória a Deus, nosso Pai!
”
The crowd went wild, hands thrusting heavenward as they repeated her words in unison, over and over, tears streaming down their faces, tears full of joy and hope and the promise of salvation.
And in that moment, Gabriela—bone weary, drenched in sweat—thought:
They would do anything for you.
Anything at all.
Then the thought was gone, skittering away like a roach exposed to a kitchen light, and Gabriela felt a chill run through her.
Where had that come from?
How could she think such a horrible thing?
It was true that she wasn’t feeling well tonight, had been concerned that she was coming down with a cold and fever and might not make it through the entire show, but was that enough to put such thoughts into her head?
Before she could take any time to analyze the moment, Francisco, Rafael and the others waved to the crowd and headed offstage. Gabriela fell in behind them, blowing one last kiss to her fans as she disappeared behind a wall of amplifiers.
By the time she reached the ramp at the back of the stage, the thought was forgotten, overtaken by the sudden realization that her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to get out of these shoes, into a limousine, take the short ride home to her penthouse in the heart of São Paulo, then swallow a handful of aspirin and go to bed.
That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
As she reached the bottom of the ramp and handed her headgear to the sound technician, Alejandro and her bodyguards surrounded her, escorting her toward a dimly lit hallway behind the stage.
Alejandro handed her a towel, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and her cell phone. Their usual ritual.
The phone was Alejandro’s idea. He thought it absolutely essential that she have one with her at all times. A security precaution.
It was true that Gabriela had ruffled some feathers by speaking out against the drug lords here in São Paulo, but she sometimes felt that Alejandro was too paranoid for his own good.
“Outstanding show,
querida
. We’ve finished the tour on a high note.”
Gabriela tucked the phone into her back pocket, wiped her face and neck, then returned the towel to him and took a swig of Gatorade. “I was off-key half the night. I think my ears are going.”
“Nonsense.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “They loved you. We all love you.”
She gave him a small squeeze back, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. Their history together would always be a source of discomfort for her, and she quickly withdrew her hand as they moved into the hallway.
Alejandro didn’t seem to notice. He had his own phone pressed to his ear now and was calling for the limousine to be brought around back. He was in fine spirits tonight, but Gabriela often worried about him, feared that she had broken his heart.
It was easy to admit that she loved him, but there were things about her that Alejandro could never know. A secret she couldn’t reveal. And the closer she had gotten to him, the more she had wanted to share that secret.
So she had stepped away. Just as she had stepped away from the streets. And the parties. And her addiction to
Poeira do diabo.
Devil dust.
They veered left, taking an adjoining hallway, and Gabriela was surprised by this. She had played this venue many times before, yet the layout seemed different somehow. Backwards. She could’ve sworn that the last time she was here, it had veered to the right, following a straight line to a set of double doors that led to the loading dock.
But not this time. And it occurred to her that either she was crazy or she was simply confused by the many weeks of touring and the hundred other backstage passageways she had traveled.
Up ahead, the fluorescent lights were flickering, and Gabriela was suddenly struck by the memory of a much darker time in her life. A time when she and her best friend, Sofie, would get high in a gas station bathroom, the light above the cracked, graffiti-laden mirror flickering endlessly as they shared a pipe.
It was Sofie’s death that had brought Gabriela to God. And every night, when she spoke to Him, she made sure to include a prayer for her lost friend.
She was remembering one of their better times together (riding their bicycles on the streets of the
favela
) as she and the others passed under that harsh, flickering light.
Then something odd happened.
Gabriela felt a short, abrupt tug, as if she’d been hooked to a wire and yanked forward. For a moment she thought she was still wearing the harness she donned at the top of every show—the one that allowed her to make her entrance by swooping over the audience liked a winged angel as she sang the opening bars of “Paradise City.”
But that made no sense. She had discarded the harness by her second number and had gone through six costume changes since.
Yet she felt the pull of that wire as plainly as she had felt the squeeze of Alejandro’s hand. And without warning, she stumbled forward into sudden darkness—seemed to be drowning in it—only to emerge on the other side to find herself alone. Standing in yet another dim corridor.
Gabriela stopped, whirled. “Alejandro?”
But Alejandro wasn’t there. Neither were any of her bodyguards. One minute she had been surrounded by them, listening to their voices reverberate against the walls—
—and now, nothing.
The corridor was empty. Silent.
What was going on here?
They would do anything for you.
Anything at all.
The thought again. Slipping without warning into her brain. But like the corridor around her, it was different this time. She couldn’t be entirely sure that the thought was her own.
She felt her forehead. Warm.
A fever. She was definitely coming down with a fever. She needed that bed more than ever now.
“Alejandro?” she called again, wondering for a moment if he and the others were hiding somewhere and this was some kind of prank. Retaliation for all the times she’d slipped away on her own.
But, no, Alejandro would never do such a thing. Could never be so cruel. Even after she rejected him, he had continued to stay loyal to her. Always kind. Always loving. Always supportive.
Alejandro was her rock.
He would do anything for you.
Anything at all.
Gabriela stiffened, her gut tightening. She was no stranger to voices inside her head, but they always came to her in moments of prayer—not like this. This one wasn’t friendly. A voice she thought she recognized.
What have you done for
him,
Gabriela?
And what did you ever do for
me
?
Sofie. It was
Sofie
.
Not the young, vibrant Sofie that Gabriela had met in middle school, but the raspy-throated powder monkey who had huddled with her in that dirty, foul-smelling gas station bathroom, sucking in endless hits of Devil Dust.
You left me to die
.
Why did you leave me to die?
Sofie was right. Gabriela
had
left her. Had found her on the floor of that very same bathroom and watched her choke on her own vomit. But instead of helping her, instead of calling an ambulance, Gabriela had followed the rules of the jungle and fled. Had abandoned her best friend, leaving her to die in a puddle of urine.
It had taken Gabriela many months to come to terms with this. To find herself again and beg for the Lord’s forgiveness. For Sofie’s forgiveness. When her career had taken off and money was easy to come by, she had formed a charity in Sofie’s honor. Several charities.
And when God’s heavenly messenger spoke to her and asked her to be one of His soldiers, she had readily agreed. Had sacrificed her future with Alejandro for the honor.
Yet none of this absolved her.
She knew that.
She would live with the guilt of Sofie’s death for the rest of her life. A constant reminder of what she had come from and who she had once been.
Someone laughed, and Gabriela whirled again, her heart lifting slightly as she looked toward the end of the hall.
“Alejandro?”
There was an open door there. One she hadn’t noticed before. More flickering light inside.
Convinced now that she was in the midst of some kind of fever dream, that she had passed out from exhaustion and was probably, at this very moment, in Alejandro’s arms, Gabriela moved cautiously toward the doorway and stepped inside, surprised by what she saw.
The gas station bathroom.
Just as she remembered it.
The dingy walls, the toilet splattered with feces, the smell of urine and dried blood, the filthy sink, the splintered mirror with the words
VA SE FODER
spray-painted across it in big red letters.
Go fuck yourself.
And sitting on the edge of the sink, beneath that flickering light, was a familiar-looking glass pipe, once translucent, now scarred and blackened by years of abuse.
Sofie’s pipe.
And lying next to it was a small, battered lighter. A faded sticker on its side read GOT JESUS?
Gabriela froze at the sight of them. Was barely able to suppress the feeling welling up inside her. A feeling of contempt, mixed with—dare she say it?
Desire.
She had long ago beat her addiction, had spent many torturous months in rehab to do so, but the dust was a powerful demon and it did not relinquish that power easily.
What are you waiting for, my angel?
A voice again. Not Sofie this time, but another woman. Soft. Soothing. Carrying a dark undercurrent that made Gabriela shiver.
Frightened now, she turned to the door, but it swung shut with a resounding boom. Then the latch clicked, locking her inside.

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